


All the Pretty Little Horses

by ForeverMyQueen



Series: Songfics [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverMyQueen/pseuds/ForeverMyQueen
Summary: Inspo vid:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4u4syNdn3o&list=PLxrmDXESC0t-Wza2l-01mT7imxN2ql9TP&index=28Draco remembers his mother's lullaby.
Series: Songfics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871260
Kudos: 3





	All the Pretty Little Horses

Draco was six years old. He knew he was six years old because it was his birthday. His father had invited several grown-ups to the Manor for a dinner in honor of the special day. Draco didn’t like them, though. They talked about confusing, scary, grown-up things like the Ministry and Laws and someone they called the “Dark Lord,” whatever all that meant. Draco didn’t pay much attention to that. Instead, he watched his mother from across the table. She smiled at him kindly, the only person to spare the birthday boy a glance.

_ Hush you by, don’t you cry. Go to sleepy little baby. _

_ When you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses. _

Another reason Draco knew it was his birthday was that his father was kinder. Not by much, mind you, but enough that Draco noticed. He noticed the lack of the usual threats before company came over, and the lighter punishments for rule-breaking and bad behaviour. The slaps still throbbed, but his mother soothed the sting with a wave of her wand and the pain of failure with a rare kiss on the forehead.

_ Blacks and bays, dapples and grays, coach and six-a-little horses. _

_ Blacks and bays, dapples and grays, coach and six-a-little horses. _

The third reason Draco knew it was his birthday was because of the presents. All the big, scary, grown-ups brought boxes and boxes of neatly folded clothes, certificates for future gifts, and money to be transferred to Draco’s trust fund. Not that the family needed it, but Draco would learn that it was more about the gesture than anything. All of the packages were wrapped in the same shade of deep green, with shiny silver bows. Draco wasn’t allowed to touch them, though. His mother consoled him with the reminder that he would get dessert after dinner.

_ Hush you by, don’t you cry. Go to sleepy little baby.  _

_ When you wake, you’ll have sweet cake and all the pretty little horses. _

The main reason Draco knew it was his birthday, though, was that his mother tucked him in that night. She was rarely permitted to do so. His father said it would “make him soft.” Draco didn’t mind being soft. He didn’t want to be all sharp edges and hard lines like his father. He quite liked the feeling of a smile. As his mother sang him to sleep, Draco imagined waking up in the morning and being able to do whatever he wanted. After all, he was six years old! Practically a grown-up like his mom. Well, not quite. He would have to go to Hogwarts before he could be a grown-up. But close. Draco’s vision blurred as he closed his eyes and fell asleep in his mother’s arms.

_ A brown and gray and a black and a bay, coach and six-a-little horses. _

_ A black and bay and a brown and a gray, coach and six-a-little horses. _

Narcissa sat on the edge of Draco’s bed, stroking his soft blond hair. She knew how much he disliked the celebrations, but he suffered through them to make his parents proud. Lucius would never be satisfied, she knew, and she wished Draco would stop trying, but there was a part of her that was impressed by Draco’s stubbornness. Someday, sadly, the world would teach him how to play the game that she and her husband had been forced to learn. He would grow up, and forget the moments like this one, and harden into the same mold as his father. But until then, she would make the most of the love he still had.

_ Hush you by, don’t you cry. Oh, you pretty little baby. _

Draco lay in bed, exactly thirteen years after his sixth birthday. It was the last birthday he would spend at Hogwarts. Usually, his housemates would plan little celebrations and surprises throughout the entire month of April. This year, there were just a few of his old friends left in the castle, and none of them remembered. Draco couldn’t blame them. No one was thinking about birthdays after everything that had happened the past year. Even so, Draco felt incredibly lonely. He lay alone in his bed, wrapping himself in a Slytherin green comforter, and gazed out the window into the deep green of the Great Lake. A couple of nostalgic tears slipped down his face as he thought back to all the birthdays he remembered. The earliest one he could recall was his sixth birthday, when his mother sang him to sleep. Draco hummed the lullaby to himself as he closed his eyes and prayed for sleep free from nightmares, free from the war, and full of pretty little horses.

_ Go to sleepy little baby. Oh, you pretty little baby. _

  
  



End file.
